


Petty Reckonings

by DarkDreamsOfHannigram, theconsciousdarkness



Series: Post WOTL Hannigram [1]
Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Cannibalism, Canon-Typical Violence, Cooking, M/M, Mentions of homophobia, Romance, Some Humor, post wotl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-15
Updated: 2017-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-02 18:28:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,414
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12731922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkDreamsOfHannigram/pseuds/DarkDreamsOfHannigram, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theconsciousdarkness/pseuds/theconsciousdarkness
Summary: After "The Wrath of the Lamb," Hannibal and Will try to make a new life in a different place. Will hasn't quite gotten over previous events.





	Petty Reckonings

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by conversations between the audience and Hugh Dancy at Red Dragon Con 3, 2017. Second place winner at FannibalFest 2017, in the Post-WOTL category.

 

The incessant traveling had lasted months, but ended rather abruptly. A tiny enclave in Uruguay on the coast was where they landed, after they’d been healed of all their injuries. Hannibal owned it, but hadn’t been there in at least a decade. As such, much of their time was spent making it habitable at first. The well and plumbing worked fine enough, but there would be no power or hot water until the generator could be installed, and that required clearing brush, building a housing for it, and many other things. These tasks kept Will from thinking about either the future or the past very much.

But as with their journey, this time ended soon enough. The day came when the power was on, the low, airy house was clean and furnished, and Will sat watching Hannibal cooking, wondering what for the life of him they’d talk about, now that nailing and painting and all the necessities of surviving were taken care of. _Clothes? Food?_ Will guessed that Hannibal would eventually want to talk about the killing of Dolarhyde, but Will wasn’t ready to discuss that, or expected he would be any time soon.

“A rustic dish, to be sure...,” he heard Hannibal saying, obviously having been in the midst of a long-winded description of what it was that he’d prepared. Will hadn’t been listening, and knew that Hannibal would want to know what he’d been pondering.

Not wanting to share, instead Will began eating (as it smelled divine as usual, and he was starving) with his fork in his right hand, which he knew would annoy Hannibal greatly. He opened his mouth as if he was about to admonish Will, but thought better of it, and just ate in silence without interrogating.

Smiling to himself, Will realized he now had a plan.

\---

“Hannibal?” Will called out from the kitchen the following morning. He appeared suddenly in the doorway, startling Will even now.

“Do you know where my shirt is?” Will saw a minute downturn of Hannibal’s lip as he held up his arms, the cuffs of too-long sleeves falling over his fingers.

“I couldn’t find mine, I borrowed one of yours.” He could have sworn he saw Hannibal’s eye twitch.

“Bit too long in the arms…” Will mumbled, roughly rolling sleeves up to his elbows as he snuck a glace up at Hannibal.

“I see that,” Hannibal said with a mixture of amusement and disdain. “Perhaps we could arrange for a shopping expedition to the town?”

Will nodded noncommittally, while Hannibal studied his face, as Will picked at a loose thread near a button. Hannibal winced.

Eventually Will met his gaze, and said, “Isn’t it dangerous? I thought you wanted to make sure we weren’t seen together?”

“I think enough time has passed. We seem to be blending in quite well here. I have only noticed eastern Europeans in the town, unlikely to have seen the American news coverage of us. Would you like to discuss your concerns further with me?”

In response, Will rolled up the sleeves even farther, wrinkling them in the process. Hannibal took that as a _no._

_\---_

Morning dawned with the invitation still standing for a shopping trip.

Time _had_ passed, Will thought to himself as dressed in another stolen shirt, but had it been enough? It’s not as if they actually _needed_ to go to the city, Will had plenty of shirts of his own…

He haphazardly brushed his curls into place and looked in the mirror. He looked the same, roughly. More scars than the same time last year. His hair was longer. Wild and out of place. Hannibal had somehow managed to keep his neat, as he always did, but Will had let his grow longer than he normally would. It somehow didn’t seem important.

He tucked an unruly bit behind his ear as Hannibal appeared in the doorway.

“I’ve arranged for a car, Will.”

“Now?”

Hannibal nodded, eyeing the untucked dress shirt. Will wasn’t sure whether it was the wrinkles or the fact it was paired with jeans that was more appalling to Hannibal. He was certain he saw a faint quirk of his lips as he walked out to await their ride.

It was a quiet, albeit comfortable trip into town. Will relaxed slightly when their driver seemed unconcerned with them, opening their doors without a second thought as to who they were or where they’d been.

The scenery passed slowly as Will stared outside. Cottages dotted the winding road, becoming more frequent in number until they gave way to small shops. Their driver pulled near to a café, letting them off. Will got out, waiting as Hannibal paid, who then joined him on the walk.

“There are a few shops for you to acquire some shirts that you may find more…” Hannibal paused, watching him, “...pleasing than my own. Perhaps you’d like to look around, while I attend to some things?”

Will stood awkwardly for a moment. It seemed odd to be doing something so mundane, in light of all the events that had taken place. He looked around, watching for signs that that they had been recognized, but what few people milled about were uninterested. Besides, his hair was so much longer and Hannibal wore a wide brimmed hat pulled rakishly over one eye.

“Fine,” Will said quietly, eyeing Hannibal’s smile with suspicion.

Hannibal left him to it, going to the store next door and seeing if they had an adequate selection of oils and vinegars. He found the oils passable, but resigned himself to making the other himself.

While he was purchasing some empty bottles and other supplies, Will came in looking both despondent and angry, and quite empty handed. He was almost shaking.

Before he would allow him to explain, Hannibal sat them down at the café and ordered him a coffee spiked with an orange liqueur. It seemed to relax him enough to be able to speak.

“I barely know what to say, Hannibal,” Will began.

“The tailoring not to your liking?” Hannibal chided, trying to lighten the mood. The corner of Will’s mouth jerked in a bit of a smile. The beverage continued to work its magic.

“I thought someone recognized me, the way the shopkeeper was carrying on to his assistant, but then I saw he was laughing, not nervous or excited. The assistant was desperately trying to break away from the conversation but his boss wouldn’t let him. The man, the owner I think, had seen us get out of the car. My Spanish isn’t great, but I picked a few things up in context and I’m pretty sure he used a very insulting word for ‘gay man’ to refer to us. I was so shocked I didn’t know how to respond. I was relieved it wasn’t a discovery but…I don’t even think he knew I was in the shop.”

Hannibal’s eyes narrowed.

“That was very rude of him,” he said in a quiet, serious voice.

Will became centered when he heard that familiar tone. He knew what would come next.

Similarly quiet, Will said, “We can’t draw any attention to ourselves.”

“Nor will we,” Hannibal said confidently. “Come, finish your drink. We’ll find another shop.”

Will nodded, knocking back the rest of the liqueur and coffee in a most undignified manner, much to Hannibal’s displeasure. He wanted another. But he got up, trailing after Hannibal and falling in step with him.

“Where did you go?” Will peered down at the bag Hannibal was carrying, listening to soft sounds of glass bottles rubbing against each other.

“Ah,” he said, clearly delighted for the opportunity to talk about food. “I’ve purchased some oils. Not the finest grade, mind you, but they will suffice for now. Perhaps I’ll purchase an oil press at some point. The vinegar selection, however, was quite abysmal. There were suitable jars, to make my own of course. There are enough fine fruits here to make an adequate ferment and I suspect, given the climate, an abundance of wild acetic acid bacteria to turn the cider into vinegar.”

Will listened to him talk, only vaguely interested in the intricacies.

“Seems like a lot of work for just vinegar.”

“Just vinegar…” Hannibal sniffed, proverbial feathers ruffled at the culinary slight.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, Will barely suppressing a grin of satisfaction at Hannibal’s distress.

“Here we are,” Hannibal said finally, smiling mildly at Will as they arrived at another clothing store. He held the door open for him, failing in behind.

“Perhaps we’ll find something acceptable here,” Hannibal said, inclining his head toward a row of dress shirts.

Will wandered off to look, throwing a glance back at Hannibal who had taken up speaking to the tailor.

Instead of ruminating on the earlier incident, Will distracted himself by trying to pick out colors and patterns that he knew Hannibal would find atrocious, only a few of which he actually liked. In the end, a compromise of three shirts he wanted, and three shirts that Hannibal wanted for him (which admittedly looked better on him than his own choices, but Will refused to voice this) were what they left with.

Their dinner conversation that night circled around Will pretending to be ignorant of the importance of good cooking oils (which he wasn’t) and planning on what they would do about the inconsiderate, bigoted shop owner.

“I can of course take care of the situation on my own, Will,” Hannibal said, sounding like he wanted Will to give him an argument about that. He needn’t have worried.

“That’s not what we’re here for, Hannibal,” Will said in a moment of true sincerity, dropping all pretense of disinterestedness, at least for now.

Hannibal smiled warmly. “I quite agree.” Their pact remained unspoken. Will still had not discussed their night with Dolarhyde. This new situation felt like a way to test himself; to see if it would feel the same. It would be different, of course. Planned and not spontaneous. But both of them knew, without giving it voice, that if they were to continue in their life together, Will would have to put himself back into that night, to immerse himself into its memory.

\---

Will sat in their front room, taciturn, absorbed in reliving the feeling of that night. On the periphery of his senses he knew that Hannibal was watching him, studying him, but the effort to pull himself out of the reverie was too difficult.

It all felt so similar. Will imagined that this is how that night would have played out, had they time to plan it.

“Will…” Hannibal’s voice was soft, far away. It faded into the quiet hum of his thoughts.

_He was going to his death._ That’s what it felt like that night. Maybe this night too. Ominous and exhilarating, all once. That he held that power - over others’ lives, over his own - it was too much. It was the end of the world; or, at least his own world.

Will ached in a terrible way, his senses dizzy and his head full of what they were about to do. A dark, horrible desire had welled up in the pit of his belly, a vicious hunger that didn’t abate. He slid a numb hand over his stomach, as if he could feel it roiling inside him.

“Will…” Hannibal was physically closer. He could sense him, hovering, even if he couldn’t see him yet.

It was nearly black that night, save for a low-hanging sun that bled through dark clouds along an even darker coast. It was black now, too. They’d slip out soon under cover of night, on foot, maybe only the moonlight sky to guide them.

_Was it the same night? Were they reliving it?_ Will looked suddenly to the window, expecting to see Dolarhyde, a crimson sky bending around his shadowed frame. But it was only Hannibal, watching him keenly, a hand hovering close as if to break the daydream.

“Will…” He felt it - Hannibal’s familiar touch - skilled fingers wrapping briefly around his arm before settling on his shoulder, as they had so many times before.

Will looked up, startled, as if he were seeing Hannibal for the first time.

"I’m ready,” he whispered fiercely, standing.

\---

Hannibal couldn’t indulge in murder tableaus anymore. That had been the _modus operandi_ of the Chesapeake Ripper, who was, for all purposes, dead and gone, fallen into the Atlantic, along with Will Graham.

So, they had to settle for repurposing the intolerant shop owner into protein. They’d discovered he was merely the co-owner, so the employees would be assured of keeping their jobs.

The both of them working together was no match for nearly any person, let alone someone taken by surprise, in the dark. Will crushed his throat with a forearm from behind, while Hannibal watched for a long minute that stretched into the shadows, just inches from the man’s face, before neatly stabbing him with a long fishing knife through the heart. The whole thing had taken less than three minutes, yet both of them found it completely satisfying. Because they had done it together.

They’d walked the five miles into town, and they would walk back.

“No one saw us,” Will said. He was stating a fact, but was also marveling at how very easy it all had been. No struggle this time, but no real threat of death, either. This didn’t make it any less thrilling. He suddenly realized he wanted to protect this life they had.

“We need only take the liver and some of the flesh of the thigh,” Hannibal said, affirming Will’s statement. They worked quickly, taking what they had planned on, and then dismembering the rest. They’d prepared a few separate places to bury what remained.

Hannibal said little, just watching Will and seeing how careful he was with every action he performed. Their movements fell into an easy coordination with one another, as if they had been doing this together their whole lives.

The relative silence and methodical, if not morbid quality of the work lulled Will into a quiet state.

Hannibal imagined as he watched Will work, that the precision and detail for this task, despite the medium, was the same he’d use for fishing lures. Or perhaps a boat motor. _A different_ _lifetime,_ Hannibal mused as he permitted himself a fleeting, wistful smile.

But new adventure awaited. This death, the murder, signaled that. Where the shopkeeper’s life had been taken, one who approached the world with such unforgiveable _rudeness_ , in its place their own new lives began. Different than their previous ones. Changed. But wholly of their own choosing. Hannibal’s smile gave way to a grin; he beamed at the possibilities that lay before them.

He touched the side of Will’s head, who regarded him curiously as he stood.

Together they finished, arriving home without incident. Will retreated, cleaning up in the way Hannibal had instructed him to, before taking to a chair in the sitting room. The lights were low in their cottage, with windows open as the ocean air poured in. Still too early in the morning for the sea birds to be making their noise, Will instead listened to the soft rhythmic motion of the tides.

Too deep into himself, he barely stirred as Hannibal sat beside him.

Hannibal looked down at Will’s feet with dismay.

“Is this your attempt at a crude joke, Will?” he said.

With an airy sort of detachment, Will replied, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know perfectly well what I mean. Not only are you wearing socks with those atrocious sandals, they do not even match.”

Will glanced down and sort of grunted his acknowledgement.

“Your behavior patterns are childishly easy to guess. Every time you want to avoid talking to me about something, you engage in some small act of offending my sensibilities. A rather petty reckoning, don’t you think?”

Will tried to speak, opening and closing his mouth a few times, before saying, quickly and more defensively than he intended, “What do you think I’m trying to avoid talking about?”

“What we did last night. What we did the night before we started our new life together. How it made you feel.”

“How do you think it made me feel?” He hissed, but the venom was self-directed.

Will grimaced, turning away. He didn’t want to talk about it. Not now. Not ever. In his mind there existed the thought that somehow, they could avoid the subject entirely, for eternity. It wasn’t possible - and so, like the clouds rolling fast on the horizon, his thoughts tumbled out in a rush.

“Terrible.” Will muttered, with disdain in his voice. “That I, whatever is inside me, is as dark as the water we plunged into.”

Hannibal regarded him silently, his face passive as Will spoke, encouraging him without judgement.

“My nightmares, my gift, whatever Jack used to call it. That’s what they were. Always. That I was becoming.” He ran a hand through his hair, setting the long curls on end. “How I could be blind to that truth, that I would ultimately be what I so feared.”

He railed against the last vestiges of his past, falling away before him as he spoke the words both of them knew to be true. “But I wanted it. More than anything. When I was taking those lives, by your side, it was the only time I’ve felt whole in mine.”

“What am I? What are we?” Will stood abruptly, trembling slightly, and narrowed his eyes. But in a moment, he sat back down.

Hannibal put his hand on top of Will’s, now clasped together in his lap. Will did not recoil from his touch, but also did not relax.

“That is for us to define. You used to have a very different idea of what we were. You tried to be Van Helsing to my Dracula. Do you still want to put another stake through my heart?”

Will kept his gaze fixed on the floor.

“No. Besides, it didn’t work the first time. And you responded in kind.”

Hannibal felt stung. It was true, but still hard to hear.

“Look at me, Will.”

He took a deep breath, and did. As soon as he lifted his head, Hannibal said, “Just come here.” He moved in, and kissed Will gently on the lips.

Will felt time slip backwards, to the moment when he had first realized that Hannibal was in love with him. He hadn’t believed he was capable of it then, but soon came to see that it was the only explanation for everything that had gone before.

Something drove him to stay, to not pull back. In an instant, he remembered why he hadn’t been able to perceive that love, despite his emotional capabilities. It was like...his signal was getting jammed at the source. Because he loved Hannibal too.

The same thing had been happening during all of their time in Uruguay. Hannibal was physically attracted to him, Will could now see. And he hadn’t known it before because he felt the same.

He tipped forward on his feet slightly, unsure of what to do with his hands. With awkwardness, he laid one against Hannibal’s hip, finally relaxing slightly. Slowly, after several moments, Hannibal stepped back, the emotions on his face not obscured as they often were - affection, love, fondness, and desire evident in his eyes.

He reached up, tucking a stray curl behind Will’s ear, and smiled.

“Tell me what you’re feeling, Will.” Hannibal’s tone was gentle, encouraging him to speak, rather than demanding it.

Will blinked, momentarily meeting Hannibal’s mild gaze.

“I feel _you_. All of you,” he said, surprised with the depth of emotion coming from the other man. “And the promise of this strange life we have together, in this place. In all the world, how we should have found each other…”

Will’s thought faded away as Hannibal stroked a thumb over his cheekbone.

He leaned in, to kiss Hannibal again, who felt like Will was confirming something for himself. When they broke, Hannibal was smiling, and Will saw the beginnings of age in the happy crinkles around his eyes. He supposed they’d been there for a while, but he was unsure if he had noticed them before. He was in his early 40s now, Hannibal around 50. He suddenly felt a wave of time hit him, as if he realized that in relative terms, they had less time left than they had already spent on this Earth. There was surely no more risking injuries like they’d had during and after Dolarhyde.

“We’re less likely to suffer hurt or capture if we work together, Will. I see what you are thinking.”

“Or stop it entirely,” Will responded.

“I don’t think either of us want that. You can no more deny your nature than I can deny mine. Nor can you deny us. No matter how much you try to drive me out of my mind. I would have thought that, along with a more refined palate, you would have developed a competent sense of what sort of footwear to choose in a warm climate.”

There was that smile again.

Will looked at his feet, unsuccessfully holding back a laugh.

“I don’t know what I was thinking…”

He lifted his foot, staring down at his sandals, and shuddered.

“They really are horrible, aren’t they?” Will grimaced at how awful they looked.

“I think they only remedy is burning them, and burying the remains,” Hannibal smirked, laying a hand against Will’s arm in a mock display of sympathy.

He sighed at the touch, that at once felt both familiar and entirely new.

“I was doing it on purpose, you know. All the ill-matched clothes, stealing your shirts.” Will winced at the thought, “I was trying to make you angry. Or hate me. Or, something else. I don’t even know.”

He looked up, suddenly feeling vulnerable after his petty displays of aggression. “…did it work?”

Hannibal brought his fingers under Will’s chin, bringing it up and kissing him again as an answer.

“Absolutely,” he chided.

\---

Now that the kitchen was fully remodeled and outfitted, Will could indulge in his new favorite pastime - sitting on the small balcony that it connected to, and watching Hannibal work. He’d done as he’d said he would before, and was currently making at least five different kinds of vinegars. Will was glad of the airy balcony and its large open glass doors.

“Hannibal, when you’re done, can we go to the town? I’d like to get some hooks,” he asked, knowing the answer already; it was the case, he’d found, that if he asked sweetly enough, Hannibal would deny him nothing.

Hannibal was glad he’d taken up fly tying again, in part for the food it provided, and in part because it allowed him to indulge in one of _his_ new favorite pastimes - watching Will fish. He smiled and nodded his assent.

Will grinned, and dropped unceremoniously into his chair on the balcony. He still fatigued easily sometimes, much to his own annoyance. It felt good to sit. Hannibal said it would pass, eventually, as he continued to heal. For now, Will was content to let the bright sunlight and fresh air do their part - he’d work on his impatience another time.

He peered around the open door, watching Hannibal. A line of glass bottles sat atop their counter. Behind them, large ceramic vessels of vinegar waiting to be drained.

“Are they done?”

Hannibal nodded, clearly pleased.

“I should have expected this area would be quite suited for several strains of wild bacteria. The climate is quite delightful and the array of fresh fruit is especially useful. Not to mention, delicious.” He beamed at Will, who regarded him with dark amusement.

“You’ve developed an obsession,” he said, shaking his head.

“These are various fruit vinegars, Will,” Hannibal said, looking up from his work. “The extra wine from dinner, a bottle here and there,” he nodded toward the largest of the ceramic vessels, “all go to feed a unique collection of bacteria. The Mother of Vinegar, as it’s called.”

Will stood, and went to lean in the balcony door.

“It’s a timeless, beautiful process,” Hannibal said, with overt reverence. “The leftover bits of fruit, a discarded peel, an inedible rind, all here.” He motioned to different crock, kept outside the kitchen window, from which there was the faint smell of fruit. “A slurry of fermenting sugars. This one will become a cider vinegar. Eventually.”

Hannibal looked up, a very faint look passing over his features, as if he were startled to see Will standing there.

Will smiled, knowingly, seeing how clearly he had been caught up. He joined him at his side, twining their fingers together.

“Come to town with me,” Will said quietly. “I want to tell you about a new fly I’m working on.” He pressed into Hannibal’s side, leaning against his solid weight.

Hannibal relaxed into the contact, and soon the sides of their heads were touching. They stayed like that for a moment, until Will pulled away, with that coy, questioning look that he knew Hannibal couldn’t resist.

“Of course,” Hannibal replied, smiling.

\---

They had walked again, this time along the coastal area that bordered the path between their house and the shops. Hannibal left Will to look at the things he needed, while he browsed an open-air vegetable market.

While he was buying some peppers to make chimichurri, Hannibal noticed that the vendor was trying to short him his change, most likely believing he was a tourist. The matter was settled amicably, as a mistake, but Hannibal looked at his face for enough time to memorize it. When they needed a scrap here or there, he’d know where to look.

When Will found him again, sitting in the shade on a bench, he sighed at the amused expression Hannibal wore. He sat down next to him.

“Not again,” he said.

“Not any time soon, Will, but yes. There will always be another, and another.”

“I was thinking about what you said. About the vinegar. How the things that seemed to have no use can be made into something. And how that takes time.”

“You never saw yourself as useless, Will.”

“No. But I didn’t understand where I fit. And it did take time. And a transformation.” Hannibal put his hand over Will’s. ”I could say the same.”

**Author's Note:**

> [](https://www.flickr.com/photos/161643638@N08/38282185815)  
> 
> 
> Art by the talented [m-oarts](http://m-oarts.tumblr.com/)!


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